Life in Technicolor
by Belletrist Word Salad
Summary: Sequel to Wicked Game. They chose not to choose life. They chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when they've got each other? NaruSaku. Oneshot series.
1. Vignette I: Ramen

**Author's Note:** For this drabble, I was inspired by Cisneros' short story "Bread." Man, I've really been in a Cisneros mood lately.

_Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suit on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you've spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life. But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got heroin?_

—_Mark Renton, _Trainspotting

Life in Technicolor

Ramen

We were hungry. We went to a convenience store along the highway we were vagabonding and bought ramen. Filled the motel room. By evening, our whole room smelled of ramen. Miso. Shio. Tonkotsu. Shōyu. Sapporo. Kitakata. Tokyo. Yokohama. Wakayama. Hakata. Kumamoto. Ramen from anywhere and everywhere.

We were children again, laughing and throwing fishcakes at each other, and then we were adults, me feeding him the fishcakes we'd just thrown at each other and then reenacting that scene from the rented Lady and the Tramp. Smell of ramen, taste of ramen and sake on our tongues, Iggy Pop's Lust for Life on the radio loud loud loud because me and him, that's how we like it, loud to cover up our noises in the bed, loud like we've always been, like when we still had a future in Oinari, like before everything with Sasuke and Sai, like if all that muss and fuss hadn't happened.

The view that reminds him, he says, of landscapes Kuroda could paint. And me remembering the Rescue Gaara mission, Chiyo-sama who gave her life to restore his.

That's just how it is. And that's how we fucked. With all his new memories and all my old. Us kissing with that saliva of broth.


	2. Vignette II: Storytelling

Storytelling

When we finish with our nightly screwing, Naruto and I sometimes have storytelling competitions before we go to sleep. Bedtime stories, you could say. Your Favorite Food. Your First Humiliation. Your Worst Birthday. One that he wins is Your First Time. He certainly has more to say than me, me whose first time was with Naruto himself. What could I tell him that he didn't already know?—Yeah, I kinda thought you were a virgin.—No need to rub it in.

And boy, does he tell it well.

You know how perverted Ero-Sennin is, ne, Sakura-chan? Then you shouldn't be surprised by what he did during my first year of training with him. And I'm not just talking about his "research."

It was my thirteenth birthday, see. Age of consent, right? He figures, how better to celebrate that little milestone than with a first fuck?

—_No longer will your _chinchin_ remain flaccid and unused, kid._

—_What d'you mean unused? I use it for pissing, don't I?_

_—You know what I mean._

So he takes me to this _inbaiya_ in Hana. Really weird name. Ophelia's Bouquet. All around us middle-aged women strip-teasing, dancing on poles, all while men including Ero-Sennin hoot and throw money at 'em like pimps.

Now I'm no prude, y'know? I've wanked to my share of porno mags, some courtesy of Kuroda, some courtesy of what I stole from Kakashi-sensei—and we're taking that to our graves, capiche? Anyway, the thing was, I was used to women on the pages, so when those _gaishou_ started jiggling their smelly _oppai_ in my face, I was scared shitless.

Ero-Sennin would have none of this. C'mon, cherry boy. Get yourself some pussy! Whatsa matter? Got no cojones? You a eunuch? But I was still guzzling sake. And then, Y'know who's gettin' some right now? Orochimaru, with Sasuke! A spray from my mouth like nothing you've ever seen.

What did you say?

You heard me. If that Uchiha's as desperate for power as we've heard he was, no way he'll be above sucking snake dick…or catching.

That cliché about old wounds, Sakura-chan. Truer words never been spoken, boy. Here I was, still reeling from the Valley of the End, and that perverted toad has the balls to plant those disgusting images in my head, as well as question my manhood. And on my birthday, too!

I had to get my cojones back somehow, and no way in hell would I get those dudes back staying a cherry boy while that snake perv was pitching the teme. So I took one big swig of my sake before seeking out Uekiya, the Gardener, asking her for the roughest _gaishou_ in the joint. Even if she's a weed, or a Venus Flytrap, I said. Had to make the first memorable somehow. She pointed down the hall, and I found her. Ibarahime. The Thorn Princess.

And did she live up to her moniker. See, she had this thing about shaving her pubes, so it felt like I was fucking a thornbush, a cactus! But it was a small price to pay to prove that I was a man. After she dismounted me, she muttered, yep, a cherry boy, alright. Come see me again when your balls drop, baby. With that, she sent me away with a smack on the bottom.

I saw her again, on the birthday before I returned to Oinari, when Ero-Sennin shelled out for the Full Bouquet. _Done deal? Done deal._ And _then_ she knew that I was no cherry boy.

* * *

One competition that I win is Your Favorite Irony.

This happened a long, long time ago, during our Genin days right after our teams were chosen. At the time, I was ecstatic. I was teamed up with _the_ Uchiha Sasuke. But how to get him to notice me? Not with my looks. My body proportions were way below average, except for my forehead…

How can I—no way! There he was, looking at me with such warm eyes, like he was looking right into my heart. Now if he could just say those magic words, You sure have a large charming forehead. Makes me wanna kiss it. That's what it's for, I'd say. No. No way he'd say that—

You sure have a large charming forehead. Makes me wanna kiss it. Did I hear him right? My Inner Self was having a field day. —Heh-heh. That sounds like something Naruto would say. So much for that.

He sat next to me. Sakura, there's something I want to ask you. What do you think of Naruto? How to answer that?

I told him He's always getting in the way when I do something important and he enjoys seeing me struggle. Naruto doesn't understand anything about me. He's just annoying. All I want is…for you to acknowledge me, I told him. And I was absolutely serious about that. I would do anything…because I like you a lot.

We were leaning, closer and closer, our lips almost touching until he suddenly pulled away, like his stomach hurt. Sasuke-kun is so shy. He prolly isn't ready yet.

He came back minutes later. Are you ready now? I sure am! —Where's Naruto? he asked. Don't change the subject. Who cares about Naruto? All he does is fight with you. But what can you expect from someone who's an orphan? He can do whatever he wants. He's so lucky, all on his own, not having anyone tell him what to do.

On his own…The feeling of having a parent scold you is nowhere near what he feels.—What's wrong, Sasuke-kun?

You sicken me. That's what he said. That I sickened him. And years later, _he_ would sicken _me_. A total 180 from before. That's the irony.

I turn to face him, only to see him chuckling, a sound like a fox's gekkering. What's funny? I ask him.

Here's my favorite irony, Sakura-chan. The Sasuke that you saw that day—not that one that was sickened by you—but the one that complemented your forehead…That was me.

You?

Yeah. I hoped to get closer to you, but then diarrhea hit and I had to bust outta there.

He chuckles awkwardly, scratching behind his head as I can do nothing but stare and stare. Then a sound gurgles through my throat, and then through my mouth. A laugh, a flow of water, and then a sound that makes my sides hurt and my belly ache and my eyes water. I punch his shoulder.—That can only happen to you, Naruto-baka.

He laughs too, rubbing the spot where I punched him.—But what I said was true, Sakura-chan. Then and now. You really do have a charming, kissable forehead, he says, pulling me to him and kissing the part of my body I once considered above-average.

* * *

Glossary

**Chinchin:** Japanese. "Penis".

**Inbaiya:** Japanese. "Cathouse", "brothel", or "whorehouse".

**Gaishou:** Japanese. "Whore", "prostitute", or "streetwalker".

**Oppai:** Japanese. "Tits". Rude and vulgar term, which is suitable for a whorehouse setting.


	3. Vignette III: Hanami

Hanami

_Hanagoromo_, maroon silk, pink cherry blossom pattern, one unit of. Folding fan, matching, one unit of. Obi, same pattern, colors reversed, one unit of. Getas, cherry blossom decoration on maroon _hanao_, one pair of. Barrette, cherry blossom, one unit of. Eye shadow, pink, a subtle touch of. Nail polish, maroon, one bottle of. Lipstick, red, one unit of. Smack of the lips. Now all I have to do is show off to Naruto, then we can attend the cherry blossom viewing. The _sakurazensen_ only lasts for so long. Shame, really.

I present myself in all my glory, holding the fan like that cover of Memoirs of a Geisha, winking.

You've really outdone yourself, Sakura-chan. With that getup, we don't even need to go. We have all the _hanaakari_ right here.—Oh, stop, I playfully scold. You're going whether you like it or not, so stop flattering. Miffed because he has to wear orange kimono and black _hakama_ as opposed to usual orange and black jumpsuit.

If that's the way you're gonna be, fine. I'll just have to enjoy all the _shusen_ by myself. A knowing and resigned smirk. You win.

I take his hand, us cantering once outside through a tunnel of red red evening sky then a tunnel of cherry trees with their _hanafubuki_, until we come to a place I reserved just for us. And what a sacred spot! Past the entrance of a Shinto shrine marked by the most elaborate _torii_ reinforced with gold that could rival any Inari shrine. Under the largest and most elaborately gnarled cherry tree wrapped with a _shimenawa_ and with blossoms and petals so pink they practically glow like the lanterns hung for what is now _yozakura_. True _hanaakari_. And to top it all off, there's a view of the most recent village we vagabonded, a view just like Tokyo, Japan's answer to Paris.

Under the tree, I spread the blanket and we sit down, items materializing from my two picnic baskets. Limited edition ramen with fishcakes shaped like cherry blossoms. _Sakuramochi_. Hanami dango. _Sakuradzuke._ Pickled cherry blossoms. A kettle of boiling water for the ramen and to boil the _sakuradzuke_ into that delicious drink _sakurayu_. And last but not least, a bottle of sake sold to become _hanamizake_. Pretty hefty price, but I got a discount on everything.

—_Damn, girl. With that pink mop, ya really look the part. They shoulda named ya Cherry Blossom._

—_Funny you should say that, because my name _is_ Cherry Blossom._

—_No shit?_

—_No shit._

A raising of _sakazuki_ as the moon with its mochi-pounding rabbit rises above this sacred shrine. A toast, Naruto says. To the pink beauties above me…and one right in front of me. Corny, I know, but coming from someone as crassly unromantic as my Naruto-baka, I'll take it. _Kampai_. A clink of plastic. Man, just think, Sakura-chan! You're named after a flower that symbolizes an entire nation. That's more than I can say for me, named after a fucking ramen topping.

But I'm thinking of other things, like the death motif surrounding my namesake. How the cherry blossom symbolized samurai because of their short lifespan. Nothing pink can stay. Spectacles of glory one day, scattered to the winds and passed over for _momijigari_ the next. THANK YOU, COME AGAIN NEXT YEAR. And that short story by Kajii Motojirō, the one beginning with _Sakura no ki no shita ni wa shitai ga umatte iru!_ Dead bodies are buried under the cherry trees! Whose grave are we treading upon? And here I am sitting on a blue blanket, with no intention of dying for nothing or nobody.

Tan hand in front of my face waving, scattering my thoughts to the wind like the _hanafubuki_. You okay, Sakura-chan? You were really spacing out there.

I turn and face the _kitsune-gao_ of my baka, which I gather in both hands to drink in like the now-spilled _hanamizake_. It's nothing, I whisper when we part lips. I think the _sakurayu_ must be ready now. For the rest of the evening, we enjoy the food and drink in silence, an occasional nuzzle here and kiss there. But not once do we look at or mention my namesake again, reminding me of that saying _hana yori dango_. Dumplings rather than flowers. Missing the point of Hanami. But right now, I'm all for missing the point. Carpe diem, not _mono no aware_. What does that say about me? You decide.

* * *

Glossary

**Hanagoromo:** fancy kimono worn for cherry blossom viewing

**Geta:** traditional Japanese thong sandal usually with two stands at the bottom and _hanao_ (thong) to hold foot in place.

**Sakurazensen:** Japanese. Literally, "cherry blossom front," the blossom forecast made by the weather bureau shortly before Hanami.

**Hanaakari:** Japanese. "The brilliance of cherry blossoms which illuminate the evening."

**Hakama:** article of clothing sometimes worn over kimonos.

**Shusen:** Japanese. "Food and (alcoholic) drink."

**Hanafubuki:** Japanese. "Falling cherry blossoms."

**Torii:** gateway to a Shinto shrine

**Shimenawa:** Japanese. "Enclosing rope." Sacred ropes with _shide_ (paper streamers) used to ward off evil spirits. Often found in Shinto shrines.

**Yozakura:** Japanese. Literally "night Sakura." Hanami at night.

**Sakuramochi:** rice cake with bean paste wrapped in a cherry leaf

**Sakurayu:** drink made of boiled water poured over _sakuradzuke_.

**Hanamizake:** sake drunk while viewing cherry blossoms

**Sakazuki:** sake cup

**Momijigari:** Japanese. "Autumn leaf viewing."

**Mono no aware:** Japanese. Literally "the pathos of things." Also translated as "empathy towards things." First coined by Edo period cultural scholar Motoori Morinaga in his literary criticism of The Tales of Genji, it has since become central to cultural tradition, an example being the cherry blossom motif.


	4. Vignette IV: Teumessian

Teumessian

Sometimes when we reach vast spaces between villages, Naruto uses his Demon Fox Transformation. A grand specimen of kitsune that could rival Inari himself. Hop on, Sakura-chan.

My knuckles white against orange fur; trees, lakes, hills, mountains, clouds, all zoom past in a blur as I have to adjust myself behind Naruto's head for wind resistance. Then déjà vu, the memory of other things zooming past us. Random villagers, establishments, trees, kunai as we run run run from the teammates we thought we'd deceived. _Hayaku! Hayaku!_ Then for a fraction of a second, that ninja's eternity, Naruto's eyes and mine meet, and we share this encouragement: we will succeed, the two of us together.

And we do, then and now as past and present blur like the objects we zoom past.

Adrenaline takes over and I tighten my body against his fur, making myself more aerodynamic. No one can catch us at the speed we're going…uncatchable…

I remember a story Naruto once told me during one of our storytelling contests, something from one of the Sandaime's old books. There once was a giant man-eating fox that lived in Teumessos, an ancient city in Thebes. Many hunters had tried to rid their country of this beast, but it always evaded their hounds and traps, for it was destined to always be uncatchable. So one day, the king gave his nephew Amphitryon the task of destroying this beast. Amphitryon eventually sent Laelaps, a hound that was destined to always catch its prey, to pursue the uncatchable fox. Eventually, the god Zeus became so frustrated with the paradox of inescapable pursuing uncatchable that he turned both beasts to stone.

Naruto and I are like that. Uncatchable, just like that fox. But unlike that fox, there is no Laelaps to pursue us, physical or proverbial.


	5. Vignette V: Sparring

Sparring

—Is that your ramen I see spilling onto the floor?

He's awake, a frantic scramble of limbs and motel blanket to salvage his beloved noodles.

Just as planned.

A scrunch of brows. He's been had and he knows it.—Good morning, sleepyhead. A quick peck on his nose.

—That was low, Sakura-chan.

—How else to wake you? I tried poking you, but you kept saying Fuck off, Ero-Sennin.

An exhale halfway between a sigh and a groan.—What time is it?

—8:30.

—Why the fuck are we awake? Let's go back to sleep.

He crawls back under the seedy covers, covering himself until only his sunny hair peeks out. But this room could be sunnier.

I throw open the curtains and then toss off his covers, his eyes tightening into stereotypical Oriental slits as he rushes to shade his eyes.

—Fuck, Sakura-chan!

—C'mon, Naruto. Up!

—I'm really starting to hate you right now, he grumbles as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. What's with the getup?

It's true. In addition to my standard outfit, I've also donned my maroon Mt. Oinari hitae-ate and kunai holster, both of which I haven't worn since the beginning of our vagabondage.

—We are going to spar!

A groan that's almost a scream as he falls back onto the bed with a decisive _flump!_—Sakura-chaaaan…do we have to?

—Yes, Naruto-baaaakaaaa, I answer pertly, yanking him upright. Think about it: how long has it been since we left Mt. Oinari? At least a year, right? He crosses his arms, face scrunched in thought, for once.—And in that time, no one's come to drag us back as missing-nin. Why do you think that is?

After minutes of straining his brain, he faces me again.—I dunno. What's it matter?

Thick as usual.—It matters because there's only one way to leave your village and not be marked a missing-nin: being an outside agent.

At least, that's the only _official_ way, without Shishou being accused of cronyism for me and Naruto-baka, which I know for a fact is the _true_ reason she let us go.

—And? What does sparring have to do with that?

Cue inward facepalm. Just when he couldn't get any thicker…

—As outside agents, we're liable to be called upon at any time to help defend Mt. Oinari. We have to be prepared for that, I elaborate as I gather his boxers, his jumpsuit, and his black hitae-ate and toss them to him.—Now c'mon! Get dressed!

A heavy sigh as he drags his naked self out of bed, a movement more reminiscent of a Neanderthal _oni_ than the loudmouth knucklehead I know and love.—Just tell me this: how many Monsters have you had?

—I've had five in the past hour and I feel GREAT!

* * *

Naruto and I enter our chosen grounds, a secluded wide open area reminiscent of our training grounds in Mt. Oinari with its patches of bare earth and surrounding trees. I can almost hear Kakashi-sensei now, the clap of his book.

_Well then…shall we begin?_

The objective is the same, only with each other's hitae-ate instead of bells.

We face each other from opposing sides, eyes never averting. Slip of the elbow warmers, tie of the headband, snap of the glove.

Wait. Calm before a storm.

Seconds, minutes, hours, eons pass, then a lightning flash, a glint in the eye, causes one of us to make the first move. Me or Naruto, I don't remember, and it doesn't matter, not with the wind whipping our hair as we dance the shinobi pas de deux. Hail of kunai, tornadoes of shuriken, then the brief but eerie calm of a hurricane's eye before the eye closes, him poof-ing as I land one of my signature punches.

A déjà vu as I scan my horizon. Above. Right. Left. Behind.

Below.

A thunderous boom as the earth beneath my fist cracks into earthquake ruins.

Found you.

The human-sized nine-tails lunges, predator going for the kill. But prey foils him with a backflip that sends a foot to his chest and throws him in a perfect arch.

He lands on his feet, reverts to human form.

Not bad.

* * *

Mid-afternoon. The storm has long passed and we're on our backs, staring up at the blue blue sky as our chests heave and our hearts slow. After a minute, I lean on my elbows, look down at Naruto splayed on the ground like a five-pointed star.—There's a waterhole over there, I tell him, gesturing with my head over the hill.—We can take a break and hydrate there.

He nods and I start trekking towards the aforementioned body of water when I see a peripheral flash of orange and black. I meet Naruto's tackle head-on and we wrestle for a few seconds before I push him to the ground with a triumphant Ha!

—Pinned ya!

—Hey, lemme up.

I comply and turn away with a smirk before Naruto tackles me again, my vision flashing blue and green then yellow and orange as we roll down the hill until—

—Pinned ya again!

I get up, take his begrudging hand, pull him to the waterhole. After refilling our thermoses, I cup my hands into a bowl, scoop up all-natural H-two-and-O, splash my face with refreshing coolness. Then I open my eyes, see Naruto flash me that kitsune grin as he runs to the other side of the waterhole and cannonballs into the once placid surface, the water forming a lotus leaf platform.

A flash of orange and black, underwater, then above the surface with a gasp for air and scrambling onto land, panting and wet like a Western baptism. He sidles up to me, complete with that shit-eating grin that I can't help but grin in kind too…before I push him back into the water and run like there's no _ashita_.

It is _on_, buddy.

We resume sparring, this time more a romp as we gambol through the field. We reach for each other's hitae-ate, end up linking hands. Our grins never cease even as we wrestle down the hill and I pin him once again.

—Aww. Pinned me again. But he doesn't mind, not this time, not in the position we're in, with nothing but lust in his eyes…

I roll off of him, panting and taking in the now starry sky. Voyeurs, I whisper to myself, amused. Then I hear Naruto with his fox's gekkering.—What's funny?

—I was just thinking to myself: maybe I wouldn't mind these spars after all. Not if they end like _this_ every time.

I let out a snicker, then punch his shoulder. You horndog.

But I'll be honest: the feeling's mutual.

* * *

**Afterthoughts:** Kudos to anyone who can guess what Disney song I referenced!


End file.
